


a graveyard, like the one i call home

by trite



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Haunted Planet, M/M, Magical Sensory Deprivation, Post-Canon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trite/pseuds/trite
Summary: It starts as allergies.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	a graveyard, like the one i call home

It starts as allergies.

“You’re sick again, Hugs?” says Dameron, frowning. Almost exasperated, as if it were Hux’s fault.

Hux has spent all his life aboard spaceships and star destroyers. The jungle that is Ajan Kloss is wreaking havoc on his immune system. Thankfully, his nose is congested and he can't smell anything. It's all dirt here. It's not exactly as if he chose to be in this place. He would've liked to be left alone to his own devices in whatever backwater planet they first reached, but everyone else had had a different idea.

“What’s wrong with him, doc? Other than the obvious and alarming amount of issues that are well outside anyone’s scope to fix.” Dameron has the audacity to grin at Hux after saying this. He’s intolerable.

"He's got a recurrent low-level fever. I can treat it, but not effectively until I know what's causing it," says the woman who introduced herself as doctor Kalonia when she first treated his leg wound.

“Why don’t—”

It seems like that was months ago, but it’s only been a couple of weeks. His ability to perceive time seems skewed. The past week, in contrast, has rushed by. Sleepless nights seamlessly blending into delirious days, occasionally interrupted by brief periods of piercing pain. He’s considered the possibility that they’re deliberately making him sick. Someone’s poisoning him, in small enough amounts that it’s undetectable in anything but his body’s decay. Or maybe they’re all in on it. They won’t stoop to torture but they’ll make him sick until he’s lost his mind. That way they get their revenge and keep the blood off their hands. Plausible deniability.

Or maybe the reason they can't determine what's wrong is that the symptoms aren't real. They're a Force trick. There's a reason Ren must've liked the Jedi girl so much, she must be just like him. He can't trust anyone.

“Hugs?”

When he meets Dameron’s big, expressive eyes, he realizes the doctor is gone. He missed the rest of her explanation. It’s also dark outside.

He refocuses on Dameron and notices he’s changed his clothes, he’s no longer wearing gloves and his bare hand rest on the mattress, next to Hux’s hip. “Hang on, I’ll get the doctor.”

“Wait,” Hux says, but Dameron disappears, swallowed up by whatever lies in the darkness beyond Hux’s line of sight. He doesn’t come back.

When Hux wakes up again, people are talking above him. He assumes they're talking because he can see their lips move, see Dameron move his hands, but he can't hear a thing.

When he tries to say something, he realizes he can’t even hear his own voice. He’s trapped with his thoughts, no way to communicate. They didn’t react at all, so it’s not just Hux who can’t hear himself. Unless they’re pretending they can’t hear him. He needs to get out of here.

When he tries to sit up, Dameron reaches out to him, holds him by the shoulders. “Whoa, easy there, buddy,” he says loudly. Too loudly.

Hux flinches. “Stop, stop.” It’s embarrassing to have to plead, but his senses are completely overwhelmed. The light is so blinding that he wonders for a second if they’re outside, directly under the unforgiving sun.

“I didn’t do anything.” Dameron looks helplessly toward the doctor but doesn’t let go.

“It’s okay. Let me—” she starts.

And then everything is quiet once again. The light filters from the windows but it’s not bright enough that it hurts Hux’s eyes.

The doctor is speaking to him. He can read his name on her lips but registers no concern over the lack of sound. Why was he bothered by this?

He is blessedly alone again. Everything is quiet and unnaturally peaceful. The ceiling above him keeps changing colors, so he focuses on that. White, black, white and then it disappears entirely, letting the cold air from outside into the room.

He is not alone. He can sense other people in the room, but when he opens his eyes it’s all a blur. He closes them instead.

This time, he sees darkness. He can still sense movement, a presence around him, but it’s even less tangible now. He places his hand in front of his face and sees its silhouette distorting the darkness, can clearly trace its outline.

“He’s awake,” he hears and when he turns his head, Dameron is there. There one second and gone the next. Back to the darkness. He moves his hand, trying to reach an approximation of the place Dameron was just a second ago and he appears. His unfairly attractive features frowning at Hux.

“I’m here. How are you feeling? You’ve been out of it for the better part of two days,” he says, holding onto his hand.

It doesn’t feel that long to Hux. He must be lying for some reason. “It’s been two days?” he says and starts coughing.

“Hang on. Let me get you some water.” Dameron moves away and disappears. Hux should be used to the disappearing act by now, but he still says _no_. Of course, his voice isn’t working either. He’s trapped again.

He closes his eyes and opens them when he feels Dameron placing a cup in his hands. He’s back. Hux has the pitiful impulse to say _don’t leave again. Don’t leave me_ , but that’s what they all want; to make him weak and needy, reliant on them. He wishes he were completely alone, but he’s something far worse. He’s surrounded by his enemies.

“—allergies,” someone says. Hux can’t tell who— their voice is distorted, almost mechanical.

“This does not look like allergies. How can—?” That’s Dameron, he can recognize his voice and against his better judgment reaches for him in the darkness.

“Hey, you’re back,” he says, touching Hux’s hand. His other hand is resting above Hux’s knee, over the thin blanket.

“Hux, can you look at me?” says the doctor. She’s there, though her edges aren’t as defined as Dameron’s.

She places a screen in front of him and orders him to place his hands on its sides, by the tilting yellow lights. He would, but as soon he moves his hands, the darkness returns. _Fuck_.

“What’s wrong, Hugs?” he hears faintly. It sounds considerably farther away than Dameron was just a second ago.

“I—” Hux is surprised his voice works. “I can’t see anything,” he says quickly, not knowing how long it’ll last.

“Okay, this is _not_ allergies.”

“ _General_ ,” she says sternly.

Hux is glad someone voiced his thoughts because when he tries to agree, his voice is gone.

He can’t see anything or hear anything or voice his thoughts, so he falls back on the bed and thinks. There has to be a pattern to it. He’s missing it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there. He compares all the times the darkness took over. What preceded it? What was different? When he figures it out, he wishes he could see if only to know where to find a hard durasteel surface to bang his head against.

“It’s touch,” Hux says. He’s holding onto Dameron’s hand tightly. Maybe too tight, if the way he keeps flexing his fingers is any indication, but Hux is unwilling to let him go. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Dameron suggests.

“Try it with the doctor. No reason it shouldn’t work,” he says easily. Spoken like someone who hasn’t spent days deprived of the use of his senses.

It's illogical, but Hux doesn't want to try it despite knowing it makes sense to do so. They need to test its limits, understand it and reverse engineer a cure, but he finds himself clinging tighter to Dameron until he has to literally pry Hux's fingers away. As soon as he does, Hux is consumed by darkness once more.

They don’t know anything about it, other than this: as long as they’re touching, Hux feels fine. Dameron has responsibilities and can’t spend all his time in the medbay, so Hux trails him around the base holding onto his hand. It’s humiliating. People send them curious looks, but Dameron is unaffected by it. He coolly puts out metaphorical fires and delegates tasks and commends his subordinates, like the leader Hux never expected him to be.

The night presents its own set of challenges.

“I’m not sleeping here again,” Dameron says, moving his head back and forth and groaning low in his throat. Hux stares at him, it’s not like there’s anything else to focus on. The doctor insisted he stayed for observation. As she reminded him, he’s not cured. The fact doesn’t slip Hux’s mind; he woke up in darkness and had to find Dameron’s hand by touch. He was still asleep. “We’ll get you a cot and you can sleep in my quarters.”

“I wish Finn and Rey were here. Maybe the Force would have some answers,” Dameron says. He’s an idiot.

Hux heard they left on a quest to find a Kyber crystal for the stormtrooper — _Finn’s_ lightsaber, who also happens to be Force sensitive. Hux is glad not to be around them. “In my experience, hardly anything good comes from the Force.”

“You’re biased because all your experiences have been negative, but it’s not how it has to be. I trust them.”

“And as such, I should trust them as well?” Hux asks.

“Why not? You have to trust someone, sometime.”

Hux scoffs. Dameron probably thinks he’s saying something very wise.

It’s just Hux’s luck that Dameron is the best pilot around. Hux’s seen him in action so he knows this to be a statement of fact and not just bragging, (not that that is the kind of thing Dameron and his ego need to hear) but he still wants to use their tangled hands to hit him when he uses it as an excuse for why it has to be him and no one else to take this mission. He can’t take Hux with him, he explains. Hux wouldn’t want to go either way. They’re bringing back more defecting troopers; he doesn’t want to be confronted with more evidence of the failure of the program.

Dameron once again suggests trying to see if it works with other people. There’s no reason why it should only be _his_ touch that keeps the symptoms at bay. Hux agrees; there’s nothing special about his touch to start with.

After the third person, it becomes too humiliating. He prefers to stay trapped on his body for hours on end.

He sleeps as much as he can. He has no idea how much time it’s been. He starts to wonder how dangerous this mission really was. What if he’s killed? What does that mean for Hux? A lifetime of being voiceless, living in darkness, ignorant of the world around him? He buries his face in the pillow. It makes no difference, but Hux can pretend.

After Dameron’s mission, something changes. He was hesitant to put it into words, but he can’t keep pretending any longer. “It’s getting worse.”

“Worse how?”

“The touching. It’s losing its effectiveness.” Everything sounds far away, things get blurry more frequently. Only Dameron remains unchanged.

They start sharing a bed. It can’t hurt, though it’s uncomfortable. Suffocating in a way he’s never experienced before. They sleep wrapped around each other and wake up in a similar manner. The bed is warm from their bodies and Dameron is warm all around him. It gives Hux a false sense of security. It makes the situation seem less grave than it is.

“Maybe it’s wrong to see it as a punishment,” Dameron says.

“You would say that.” Hux hasn’t gotten better. If anything, he thinks he’s gotten worse. It’s degenerative and he can feel his senses deteriorating. It genuinely terrifies him to think there’s nothing he can do to stop it. That it’s already too late.

“Yeah, I just love getting kicked in my sleep. What I meant was that maybe it’s taking things from you in order to give you something else.”

Hux glares at Dameron, not because he completely disagrees — though it absolutely is a punishment — but because he’s already thought of this and didn’t like the conclusion he reached. It feels like a punishment designed specifically with Hux in mind. It forces him to rely on others — on his _enemies,_ to depend on their goodwill. On their decency, the kind Hux would have never afforded them if the roles were reversed — and to give up control. He doesn’t like where this could end up. “I have no idea what you’re even saying.”

“That’s it’s trying to give you something you’re depriving yourself of. Something you wouldn’t give yourself.”

"Where are you getting this from?" Hux asks. It is obviously not based on Hux's experience.

“I spoke to Rey.”

Hux scoffs. “So this is Force mysticism.”

“If you have any better ideas...”

“It’s not giving me anything. It’s just taking things from me and leaving me helpless.” Nothing Hux shouldn’t be used to.

He goes to sleep next to Dameron, reluctantly comforted by his presence, and wakes up in the middle of the jungle. He’s barefoot, wearing the clothes he went to sleep in and can see the green, tall trees all around him, almost caging him in. He’s sweating, his clothes sticking to his body. When he touches his face, his vision briefly blurs.

There’s light coming from behind the trees, almost blinding, but the closer he gets to the campsite the darker it gets. He can clearly make out everything that’s behind him; can almost feel the unnatural calm that radiates from the scene, but he continues blindly walking into darkness.

“Hux. Hux, where are you going?” It’s Dameron. He can see him in the middle of the darkness even though they’re not touching. “You scared me. What are you even doing out here?”

He opens his mouth to tell Dameron he can see him now, no touching necessary, when Dameron turns around and starts talking to — nothing?

“What are you doing?” Hux asks.

“Calling off the search party.”

Hux frowns. There’s no one around.

“So you can only see me,” Dameron says.

“Yes.” Whatever this thing is, it’s extremely unsubtle with the point it’s trying to make.

Dameron turns to his left and says, “he can’t hear anyone else either. Okay, yeah.” He turns to Hux. “So the doctor wants to know if—”

Hux tunes him out. They’re not going to figure it out or they’ve already done so or there’s no fixing it. He can’t stop thinking about how normal everything seemed in the middle of the jungle.

Worse than being alone or being surrounded by his enemies is being surrounded by them and unable to see them. He spends hours locked inside his room in the medbay. He sits on the floor and presses his back to the door. He's dozing off when Dameron stops by. He even saves Hux the humiliation of asking him to let Hux sleep in his quarters, by offering it unprompted.

They wander the eerily quiet and empty base together. Dameron sometimes touches his back or elbow to direct him away from someone Hux can’t see, but he mostly plasters himself to Dameron’s side, letting the warmth of his body guide him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dameron says before turning his back to Hux and going to sleep. It’s a familiar sight, one that was completely foreign just a couple of weeks ago. He touches the space in the bed between them and wonders if he is being given something after all.

The next day, he can hear again. He still can’t see anyone, so he’s surrounded by disembodied voices coming unexpectedly from all sides. It’s not an improvement. At least before, he wasn’t constantly startled by their inane chatter.

He keeps flinching and recoiling and _reacting_ in ways that are mortifying but probably seem amusing to everyone else. At least he can talk to the doctor himself without needing Dameron to play interpreter. Not that it does any good, she is completely clueless. He can’t help but feel that if he were back in the Order they would’ve figured it out. Or he’d be dead already. Unable to prove his worth against the burden he would’ve become.

Either way, he doesn’t get a chance to get used to it because it’s gone the following day. Hux reminds himself that the quiet is what he wanted.

For the next five days, he wakes up in the middle of the jungle. He starts sleeping with his boots on because the trek back makes the soles of his feet bleed.

He returns to their quarters — Dameron’s quarters — cold and sweating and exceptionally relieved to find him there. He doesn’t know how he would feel if he couldn’t see him either.

He’s in the middle of the jungle again. Hux looks around, but it’s not the scenery he’s used to. The air is different; feels breathable. The sky is dark but the trees are brightly lit, casting an almost purple glow on Dameron. He’s wearing gloves when he touches Hux’s face and even though his mouth is cold, it warms Hux’s entire body when their lips connect.

Hux wakes up freezing.

“He can see, he can hear, he only has a mild fever. That’s an improvement, right?” Dameron asks. He has his hand on top of Hux’s even though they don’t need to be touching.

“We still don’t know what caused the other symptoms. It could be cyclical. We need to be better prepared if they come back.”

If, not when. Hux appreciates their optimism.

Dameron sighs. “He’s all yours.”

There’s nothing wrong with him. (“Well, I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Dameron say with a laugh.)

The point is, they don’t know what’s wrong with him, how to fix it, if it’ll come back, if it can kill him. Nothing. Their best guess is that it’s something on the planet that’s affecting Hux, but they don’t know why it’s _only_ affecting him.

“If the planet is the problem, why don’t we take a little trip? You, me, the vastness of space. Could be — interesting,” Dameron says casually, but there’s an edge of anticipation to his words.

“It would be irresponsible for me to clear him for an off-world trip in his condition,” the doctor says.

“He’s fine. Right, buddy?”

But before Hux has a chance to answer (in the affirmative. Dameron’s idea is honestly not the worst he’s heard so far. If nothing else, _it’s something_ ) the doctor says, “his condition could deteriorate any second. Not to mention, we don’t know what’s affecting him if the first place.”

“You believe it’s something about—”

Hux briefly wishes he couldn’t hear. It would be less infuriating than this endless back and forth.

“Did you ever go camping?” Dameron asks, turning in the pilot seat to look at Hux.

Hux has had a lot of time to observe him in the last few days. There was often not anything else to see. Even if there had been, Dameron makes for a pleasing sight. He looks comfortable and relaxed in a way that tells Hux this trip was not solely about Hux’s condition.

“Sort of. Something like it.”

"What are we counting as 'sort of'? Staying inside your ship while you're planet-side does not count. Neither does camping inside your star destroyer."

Hux glares, but his heart’s not really in it. “During survival training at the Academy. There was an element to it that could be considered camping.” It could generously be called that, though he supposes Dameron wouldn’t.

“Right. How old were you?” he asks casually, but Hux doesn’t like the picture he is undoubtedly conjuring in his mind.

“I don’t see what difference that would make. It was a good thing.” Hux still sees the value of the principles that were instilled into him in the Academy. He’s spent too much time questioning his adult life already. He doesn’t want to keep going further back.

Dameron nods. “I went camping a lot as a kid. Not so much with my mom; that was a short-lived tradition. After she died, though, my dad insisted on — preserving it isn’t the right word, more like turning it into one. A bonding, mourning, recreational activity all in one.” He laughs fondly. “It was a bit too much for me at the time. I was — difficult.” He squints at something in the distance and bites his lip.

_You still are,_ Hux wants to say, but it wouldn’t be the truth. He is surprisingly easy to be around, to sleep next to, to wait for.

“Anyway, it’s good to know you can handle yourself and I won’t have to save you from a man-eating plant.”

Hux frowns. “Are we expecting that?”

“It’s a big, unpredictable galaxy. You never know what to expect,” Dameron says standing up.

Hux watches him leave and refuses to assign a deeper meaning to his words.

The planet’s surface is a lot like Ajan Kloss, which initially causes a sensation of anxiety to go through his body. Maybe he’s trapped in Ajan Kloss forever, all prospects of escape an illusion. A room without a door.

However, when he focuses on his surroundings, examines them, he can see all the small differences. The trees don’t seem like they’re closing in on Hux, intent on absorbing the air he needs to breathe. It’s familiar in a way Hux is afraid to pinpoint.

They find a lake near their camping site.

"Is it a lake? I don't think so. I think it's a pond," Dameron says, apparently an expert on bodies of water. He approaches the shore and unlaces his boots, paying no mind to Hux's warnings not to go in. He rolls up his pant legs but doesn't submerge himself. He groans when the water is covering his feet. “It’s nice. You should come here.”

Hux sits on the rock next to him but chooses to keep all his limbs dry and close to his body, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Do you feel better?” Dameron asks.

“Do _you_?”

Dameron turns to look at him. “It’s awful, right?” He lies down on the rocks and rubs the heels of his hands against his tired eyes. “You probably think I’m irresponsible and selfish and overall unqualified for my position. You wouldn’t be entirely wrong. I just wanted to — get away for a little. It’s less than a day, right? Tomorrow I’ll go back and I’ll be better.” He says it with conviction. With confidence in his willpower if not in his skills. He sounds certain, but Hux still gets the urge to reassure him somehow.

The bar is low, but he is defying Hux’s expectations. Hux looks up, the mismatched white and purple moons staring back at him. “You’ll be fine.”

Dameron laughs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. It means a lot.”

When Hux turns to look at him, Dameron’s profile is bathed in the purple light of the moon. An uncomfortably familiar sight.

“I want to show you something,” Hux says once they’ve set up camp for the night.

He walks with Dameron to the middle of the woods. Their arms keep brushing and Dameron keeps reaching out to touch him, only to remember it’s not necessary a second too late. Hux would lean into his touch, but he doesn’t have the excuse anymore.

“Did you bring me out here to kill me?” Dameron says, looking around. Nothing but trees surrounds them. “What did you want to show me?”

Hux leans forward and presses their lips together. It’s not as he saw it in his dream. It’s real and, as such, better.

Dameron kisses him back unhurriedly and whispers against his lips, “I didn’t think you’d find this kind of setting romantic.”

“I saw this in a dream.”

“...right. Tell me more about these dreams you’ve been having about me, then,” Dameron says, shamelessly flirting.

“It’s not like that. I — I think you were right.” Hux hasn’t had a lot of time to think about it, but the pieces fit. More than anything else has so far.

“This keeps getting better. Say that again?”

Hux glares. “I meant that maybe it was trying to show me something. Not that — I still think it was a punishment, but maybe because I chose to see that instead of—” Hux flounders. He doesn’t actually know how to explain it. It’s the kind of thing he would mock someone else for.

“I get it,” Dameron says easily. “Yeah, that makes sense.” It’s not very convincing, but Hux doesn’t feel like he’s just being mollified. “What else have these dreams been telling you to do? Do I have to worry about a future massacre or—”

Hux kisses him again, if only to shut him up. It’s briefly successful.

“How many of these kisses did you see?” Dameron asks, barely putting any distance between them.

“Just the one.” Hux leans in again.

They’re used to sleeping in close proximity, so the sleeping tent doesn’t present any challenges. If anything, they’re now trying to get closer.

“Let me, let me.” Hux doesn’t think he’s ever touched anyone as much as he’s touched Dameron this past week. He’s not sated, though. If anything, he only craves more.

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Dameron moves his hand underneath the hem of Hux’s shirt and touches his spine. His touch warm and reassuring, as usual. Hux fumbles between them and rubs his hand over the front of Dameron’s pants, feeling him arch into his hand.

When he grips his cock, Dameron’s hand wanders to his thigh and he squeezes firmly. Hux can’t bring himself to dismiss the extra point of contact as unneeded. He adjusts his grip and twists his wrist at the end of each stroke. If he concentrates, he swears he can get a sense of the pleasure Dameron’s feeling. An overwhelming sensation of togetherness that heightens all his senses.

Dameron props himself on his elbows and looks down, watching Hux’s hand cover his cock and jerking his hips upward. He pulls until Hux is lying on top of him and even though the angle makes his hand cramp, it’s worth it for the deep and exploratory way Dameron kisses him.

Dameron moves his hand from Hux’s hair to the top of his spine and back again; an almost hypnotic motion. He goes rigid and then boneless underneath Hux as he pants against his mouth.

“Your turn,” he says after a moment, rolling them over. His weight heavy and grounding on top of Hux, trapping him in place in a way that, for once, feels welcome.

In the morning, Hux is embarrassed not to have woken up first. Dameron is dressed and mostly packed already. “Come on. Time to get back.” His tone and firm and business-like, but he touches Hux’s hand and briefly holds onto his wrist when he passes him a rations bar.

Hux stays seated even after Dameron starts calling to him. After a moment he approaches him and says, “come on. It's not as if you can feasibly stay here." He touches Hux's wrist again but doesn't pull. The gesture is meant to be comforting, Hux realizes, almost surprised by its success.

When they disembark, Hux feels completely assaulted by the noise and the bodies moving around them, toward them. People immediately clamoring for Dameron’s attention.

“You okay?” he asks Hux once they’re outside the medbay.

Hux is almost afraid to voice it, but, “yes, I feel fine.” He almost can’t believe how menacing his surroundings appeared to him, but he remembers clearly that pervasive, oppressive feeling.

“I’ll check on you later, okay?” He nods as doctor Kalonia approaches them, then adds, “and I’ll see you tonight.” Almost a question.

“Yes, of course.”

Dameron leans forward before catching himself and squeezing his hand tightly instead. He walks away, already preoccupied with something on his datapad. Hux watches him leave until the doctor’s words get his attention. “How are you feeling? The General promised to bring you back in — what were his words? ‘Even better shape than before.’ Did he deliver?” she asks.

There is not a hint of innuendo in her words, but Hux still feels his face burn. “I think,” he says carefully. “That whatever else is wrong, can be fixed.”


End file.
